


Demitasse

by anotetofollow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Post-Halamshiral, Thedosian politics, Verbal Sparring, Winter Palace Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Empress Celene and the Inquisitor have a private discussion after the ball at Halamshiral. Giveaway prize for tumblr user @sanguinerin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demitasse

Satine could barely believe that she had only arrived at the Winter Palace earlier that same evening. Intrigue, treachery, treason, attempted assassination - in truth, it had far exceeded her expectations. The Orlesian court truly did know how to throw a party.  
  
She was tired, though, terribly so. Even once the dramatics were over and done with, the machinations necessary to secure support for the Inquisition were far from complete. Most of the guests had already returned to their estates, leaving only a few stragglers too desperate or too inebriated to make a polite exit. When Celene suggested that she and Satine retire to her private solar, the mage gladly accepted. Worried looks from her advisors suggested that they felt this a terrible idea, but Satine waved them away. She was more than capable of handling herself.  
  
Celene’s solar was located in its own tower, far away from the ballroom and from prying eyes. It was small but lavishly comfortable. The lights were low and intimate, the furniture all in mahogany and dark velvet. A tapestry hanging from one wall showed Andraste speaking to the Maker, and a marble bust of some former Emperor sat atop the mantelpiece.  
  
Everything in the room gave the impression of wealth, but in the most subtle of ways. Simply bringing someone inside would send a clear message; _I have power, and enough that I do not need to flaunt it_. Celene’s mastery of the Game was apparent even in her furnishings. Satine decided to alter some of the decor in Skyhold upon her return.  
  
The wood burning in the great fireplace was not from any common tree, and it gave off a faint aroma of spice and citrus. The heady scent made Satine feel even sleepier than before, and she was grateful for the stiff boning of her corset keeping her upright. Fighting the urge to yawn, she smoothed back her russet hair and adjusted several of the feathers at her bodice.  
  
“You look tired, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “Maillet. Fetch us some coffee.”  
  
A serving man - _human_ , Satine noted - bowed deeply and scurried out of the room, leaving the women alone.  
  
“Your Radiance is a most gracious host,” Satine said.  
  
“When your guests make it their business to thwart an attempt on your life a little refreshment seems only proper.”  
  
“What can I say? The Inquisition is in the business of protecting people.”  
  
“Of course,” Celene smiled prettily. “Especially those who could further their interests, no?”  
  
Satine forced herself to sit up a little straighter. Every word counted, now; she must be alert. “If our order were to benefit from your continued safety, Your Radiance, I can hardly deny that it would please me.”  
  
Celene folded her hands neatly in her lap. The fabric of her gown rustled slightly, the quietest breath of sound. “From one less eminent than yourself, such a statement might almost sound like a threat.”  
  
“Then we should both be thankful for my eminence.” Satine smiled.  
  
“That we should,” Celene said. “The Inquisition’s fame is no longer a thing to be doubted. Although I have heard a few troublesome whispers.”  
  
“Oh? And what do these whispers say?”  
  
“They say that you may have not been particularly discriminate in who you associate with. One hears mention of Qunari, Tevinter lords... Some are concerned that your allies may have… questionable agendas.”  
  
“How so?” Satine said mildly. “Agendas like, say… working in support of the elves?”  
  
Celene’s eyes flashed, just for a moment.  
  
“I speak purely in hypotheticals, of course,” Satine continued. “I understand your caution. The court would certainly object to discover that I had been in bed with such an individual. So to speak.”  
  
“Come. Let us not mince words.” Celene’s tone was suddenly a little harder. “The Inquisition has not been secretive about its motives. You wish to garner support for your order, and mine would be invaluable to you.”  
  
“I cannot deny it.”  
  
“However,” the Empress continued. “While I am sure your cause is a noble one, life in the empire goes on. During my rule Thedas has seen blight, war, unrest of every kind. Have I made it my business to involve myself in every catastrophe that has befallen the world?”  
  
 _Not openly, certainly,_ Satine thought, but kept quiet.  
  
“I have not,” Celene continued. “I do not doubt that the Breach presents a real and present threat. But the Game will still be played. Upstarts like Gaspard will still take it upon themselves to try and seize power when the world is at its weakest. My concern is for Orlais, Inquisitor. If I neglect my country now, the results could be catastrophic.”  
  
“Demons are pouring from the sky and you speak of neglect, Your Radiance? What happens when a rift opens in the square at Val Royeaux? Will your people not wonder why their Empress had not taken precautions to stop such a thing?” Satine kept her voice level. She must be seen to be positing scenarios, not making accusations.  
  
“You underestimate the court, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “There are things more frightening than demons in this world.”  
  
The servant Maillet returned, bearing a tray holding two tiny china cups and a pot of steaming, tar-black liquid. With practised efficiency he placed the tray on a side table in easy reach of the two women and poured a small amount of hot coffee for each of them. He bowed, and retreated to his place by the door. He did not look either of them in the eye.  
  
“I have this imported from Seheron,” Celene said. “I usually prefer tea, but sometimes one requires something a little more… robust.”  
  
Satine picked up one of the cups by its delicate handle. The liquid inside was black as night, and smelt of smoke and sugar and citrus all at once. The aroma alone woke her up a little.  
  
Celene lifted her own cup. “Wine would be more appropriate, of course, but I would like to propose a toast. To Orlais and the Inquisition working in harmony.”  
  
“A fine toast indeed,” Satine nodded. “I would not presume to drink before the Empress, however.”  
  
Celene laughed then, a genuine, throaty sound. “My, you are learning the Game quickly, Inquisitor. Very well. If it will put your mind to rest.” The Empress took a long, deliberate sip of the dark liquid.  
  
Satisfied that she was not about to be poisoned, Satine raised her own cup to her lips. The coffee was excellent; strong and sweet, just as she liked it.  
  
“I look forward to working with you, Your Radiance,” Satine said, smiling gently.  
  
“And I with you, Inquisitor. And I with you.”


End file.
